Because I have more grey matter on the outside of my head than I do on the inside, I am often asked why I don’t dye my hair. “I do,” I always respond. “I dye it grey so I’ll seem more mature.” To which people say, “It’s not working.”

So when my barber, Maria Vieira, recently told me about a new kind of hair colouring treatment that covers enough of the grey to make you look younger but not enough so people will think you put shoe polish on your head, I decided to go for it. This wasn’t just because my cranium resembled a snow-capped mountain peak, which could be why I frequently had brain freeze and was considered over the hill, but also because I wanted to see if anyone would notice that some of the snow melted.

As I sat in a chair at Charmed Salon & Spa in Miller Place, N.Y., Maria confirmed my theory that very few people know what their original hair colour was.

“They range from teenagers who have already dyed their hair a dozen times to seniors who went grey years ago,” said Maria, who admitted that she can’t remember exactly what colour her hair used to be. It’s now a rich brown with blond highlights and looks beautiful. I was hoping she could make me look the same. Or at least young enough so Boy Scouts wouldn’t start offering to help me cross the street.

But first, Katie McConnach, Maria’s assistant, put colour block along my hairline, my sideburns and the back of my neck. “We don’t want to colour your ears,” said Katie, who then put some of the stuff around my moustache, which looked like a giant Brillo pad and also had to be dyed.

Next, Maria rubbed Menz Natural Hair Color Gel by Scruples into my curly locks, which she said were very thick. “So is my skull,” I replied. Maria didn’t disagree, although she did say that she was giving me a light ash brown colour. “I know it’s your natural shade because you still have brown in the back,” she noted. “Besides, it will keep you lightheaded.”

Then she got a paintbrush and applied the gel to my moustache and my eyebrows, after which she set a timer for five minutes. I felt like an egg.

Fortunately, the yolk wasn’t on me. After the timer went off and the gel had been rinsed out, I looked in the mirror and saw a younger but not entirely different me. “Now you have more pepper in your salt,” said Maria, adding: “Let’s see if anyone notices.”

The first test came when my wife, Sue, arrived home. It was a Friday afternoon and I helped her carry in some groceries, after which I talked with her in the kitchen. She looked right at me. “Wow,” I thought, “she can’t tell.”

Later on, my older daughter, Katie, and her husband, Dave, who live in Boston, came down for the weekend. Neither one said anything about my hair.

The next day, we all saw my younger daughter, Lauren, for whom hair is a way of life.  She is very hair-aware, yet she failed to notice that I had coloured mine.

On Sunday morning, before Katie and Dave left, I gathered them and Sue in the family room and asked if they noticed anything different about me. “You look thinner,” Katie said. Sue and Dave were stumped. When I said I had coloured my hair, Sue, who colours hers, said, “I’ve been married to you for 31 years and I didn’t even notice.” Katie, a journalist who colours her hair, said, “I feel terrible because it’s my job to notice things.” Dave, also a journalist (he doesn’t colour his hair), said, “I thought your moustache looked a little darker, but I didn’t want to say anything.”

That afternoon, I asked Lauren, who had come over with her friend Jen, if she noticed anything different about me. “I saw you in the sunlight before and thought your hair looked browner,” she said. “Did you colour it?” I said yes and added that it took her, a hair goddess, two days to catch on. Jen said, “It’s very natural.”

So now I look younger but still distinguished, if no more mature. It was an experience to dye for.

Zezima, a freelance writer, is giving new meaning to colourful. He can be reached at JerryZ111@optonline.net.